Souls in the Abyss
by Tarklovishki
Summary: In Purgatory with nothing and no one to rely on but each other, it's a desperate race for Dean and Castiel to find a way out without ending up in the jaws of the creatures that hide there. Full summary inside, Dean/Castiel.
1. Into Purgatory

**Title;** Souls in the Abyss

**Author;** Tarklovishki

**Rating;** NC-17

**Warnings;** Overall murder, gore, grievous bodily harm, rape, character death. More warnings will apply with future chapters.

**Spoilers;** Spoilers for the end of season 7.

**Summary; **In Purgatory with nothing and no one to rely on but each other, it's a desperate race for Dean and Castiel to find a way out without ending up in the jaws of the creatures that hide there. Only, finding allies in dangerous times isn't as hard as they thought. Above ground, Sam races against time to pull them free without succumbing to his own returning darkness.

**Authors Notes;** This is my way of filling in the void that the finale gave us. This chapter is short, just setting up a couple of key points that will help further the story in the long run. I hope to have an update every week. Suggestions for the story are more than welcome. Enjoy!

Souls in the Abyss

Chapter 1

Dean looked around for Cas. He wanted to scream out for him to come _right the fuck back,_ because hello; monsters coming to eat him, but because _monsters were coming to eat him_, he kept his mouth shut and hoped that he looked like nothing more than a big stump with clothes to them.

He didn't breathe, didn't move a muscle, couldn't think. He could hear the growls of his predators as they came closer, the crack of twigs and the shuffling of dead foliage as they moved. They were stalking him. After years of hunting down monsters like them, the tables were turned. He was the enemy to hunt now.

Dean thought about running, but decided against it. Where could he run to where they couldn't find him? Odds are, they've been here longer than he's been alive. They knew this place better than Dean did.

"Dean." The sound of wings accompanied Castiel's voice as he returned. A werewolf howled and then leaped through the trees, bloody fangs bared ready to sink into Dean's flesh. Castiel's hand shot out, grabbed Dean by the shoulder. The familiar tug around Dean's navel lifted him from the ground and, in an instant, they were somewhere else. Except, it all looked the same.

"Where the hell did you go?" Dean whisper-shouted. "I could have been killed!"

"I was looking for a way out," said Castiel seriously. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders back, like a soldier about to go into battle. "I couldn't find one. I heard your distress before I could look too closely."

"I hope you're not gunning for an apology _because I almost got eaten_!"

"You won't be able to die in Purgatory," said Castiel matter-of-factly, although the way his lips curved and his eyes softened, he looked remorseful. "You will just reanimate."

"Great. Just freaking great." Dean ran a hand through his hair, turning away from Castiel. "Well, what about Sam? How do we get back to him?"

The silence that followed his words forced Dean to turn around, because this was Castiel's cue to say something encouraging like "We'll get out of here soon" or "Sam will find a way to get us out of here." What he found, however, was Castiel looking anywhere but Dean, shifting uncomfortably.

"What?" Dean asked, unsure of whether or not he wanted an answer. "What is it?"

"There is no such things as time here." The words were spoken quickly, as if Castiel hoped to lessen the pain that Dean would inevitably find in them.

Dean thought he must have been missing something important there. "Yeah, and?"

"Time still runs on Earth, Dean. If we ever get the chance to return to Earth, we have to take into consideration that we may have been trapped down here for years. Longer than the rest of Sam's life. The last time you saw him may in fact be the last time you ever get to see him."

If those words weren't a sucker-punch, Dean didn't know what was. His mouth opened and closed, working for words that wouldn't come.

Castiel looked away again. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"No," said Dean hoarsely, his voice almost giving out on that one word. He refused to believe that Sam could die from old age while he was stuck down here. Refused to believe that Sam could actually be in his seventies when Dean got out. "No. We're going to find a way out of here. Quickly. Sam will be alive when we get back."

Castiel nodded. "I hope, for your sake, that that's true Dean."

"R-right, so … what do we do now?" Dean asked. Where could they go from here? He only had help getting out of heaven and hell from the angels, and they were certainly not around to give them a needed helping hand. The only people they could trust to pull them out of here was Sam and each other.

"We find some place safe to lie low for a while," said Castiel. He held up a hand when Dean opened his mouth to protest, because they didn't have a while. They didn't have time. "I know what you are thinking, Dean, but we are new here. Do you know how fast news travels about fresh meat down here? All of purgatory could already know about us. We have no choice but to hide."

"I don't like this," Dean murmured to himself, but ultimately gave in to the fact that Castiel was right. He hoped that Sam would meet up with hunters, make friends or do something so as to not be alone. Winchesters never reacted well to being alone. Or, they didn't survive long. "Will protection sigils work down here?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Which is one small mercy in this cold, dark world."

"Right, so … what are we waiting for?" Dean rolled his shoulders back, preparing for a long walk ahead of him. "Let's get the hell out of here before something finds us."

**To Be Continued. . .**


	2. Finding Shelter

Chapter 2

"Dean, stop."

Dean stopped immediately, tensing. He half-turned to Castiel, shooting him a questioning look that was ignored for Castiel's eyes were darting every which way, his body shifting into the posture of a warrior, ready to fight. To Dean, however, nothing seemed to be wrong. That in itself was a little troubling.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asked, softly, scared to raise his voice out of fear of attracting a beast. He knew that it was beyond his ability to conceive the numbers and breeds of monsters that lived here that were extinct long before Dean's time. "What do you see?"

In answer, Castiel pressed a finger to his lips, beckoning Dean closer to him with the other. They had already been standing close enough that their arms would occasionally brush, now Dean stood slightly behind Castiel, chest almost touching back. Realising the state of vulnerability he was now in, exposing his back to the enemy, Dean turned around, pressing his back against Castiel's.

Then, after a time, the tension slowly seeped from Castiel and he took Dean by the elbow and continued to walk, although his footsteps were a lot quieter, less likely to leave imprints in the ground this time.

"What was that?" Dean asked. He stumbled over a rock for his inattentiveness to where he was going.

"An old alpha werewolf," said Castiel. "Very territorial. I believe he was killed off in the early eighteen hundreds. Those were times when pack brutality were widely accepted amongst their kind, but when their werewolf numbers started declining rapidly because of their actions, those who continued to do it were condemned. Ironically enough, they were condemned to death."

"And why did I need to know that?"

"Because that alpha werewolf was one of the condemned. He was overthrown by a young male of the pack and then later killed for trying to eat the beta."

"Huh." Whilst Dean didn't classify that information as important, he certainly found it interesting. Enough so that he thought about it for a while, wondering how exactly the werewolf revolution went down. He supposed he could ask Castiel, but that would've taken the fun out of it.

This area seemed to be dominated by werewolves. Several times Dean and Castiel had to stop and stand as stiff as they could. Anything that could move was like a threat to the werewolves and cause them to attack.

Purgatory was unlike anything that Dean had ever dealt with before. In hell, at least you knew that the torture was coming. Heck, you came to expect it, and could grow an immunity to the pain until the routine changed a little bit. Purgatory, however, you never knew what was coming. Anything and everything could be hiding in those trees, watching you, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

The only good thing to come out of this situation was that Castiel was with him. Dean had no idea how long he would last without Castiel, and he wasn't in any rush to find out. Having an angel on his side had always been a bonus, but this just proved how much so. Castiel could sense out trouble before it reached them, hiding both of them away.

It was easy to tell how close a werewolf was to them, as the foul stench of blood, decay and death clung to them, so strong that the smell had a ten foot radius. Perhaps their own smell stopped them from smelling out Dean and Castiel.

"Why do they smell so fucking gross?" Dean asked, voice hushed, as Castiel motioned for him to step out from behind the tree they'd taken cover behind.

"It's because of the amount of times they've been killed here," said Castiel grimly. "To other werewolves, this would be seen as a weakness."

"Easy prey," said Dean, realisation colouring his tone.

"Yes."

"Hey, you know how you can zap us places? Could you do that right now?" Dean asked, hopeful. "You know, move us out of the wolf's den and all that crap?"

"No," said Castiel. "It's not wise to do so."

"Why not?"

"Because I could drop us right in the middle of a pack of werewolves," said Castiel, and the thought of standing in the middle of these bloodthirsty killers scared the hell out of Dean. "I cannot always guarantee that the place I send us is empty. If I were to 'zap' us to a certain spot, it's only if there's no other chance of escape."

Dean nodded, understanding. He was about to put his foot down when, at the last moment, he saw the tree root that would have tripped him up, and quickly stretched his leg out further to avoid it. He could have sworn that root hadn't been lifted off the ground before.

That was the thing about Purgatory; everything was alive, constantly moving. Dean found he had to keep a watchful eye for changes. Just because you would always be brought back to perfect health didn't mean pain didn't exist. More than once Castiel saved him from a snapped ankle or a broken kneecap.

The howl of a nearby werewolf stopped them cold. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood up, his skin coated in goosebumps. Castiel shoved him down, hiding them both behind a thick fern. Just in time, too; a werewolf came trotting up the small hill twenty feet away, paused, lifted its muzzle to sniff curiously at the air, then threw its head right back and gave another howl. After a few seconds, at least three other wolves answered.

Dean was so not prepared for this. With no way of killing these bastards without them fucking coming back to life, they were at a serious disadvantage. They were not on Earth, where if he killed a werewolf they simply went away and there was no need to worry about them anymore. Here, creatures would always be around, and there would always be a need to exercise caution.

"Let's go," said Castiel quietly. His face was a grim, determined mask, whatever emotions he was feeling hiding behind it.

"We need to get off the ground for a while," said Dean, standing, idly brushing dirt off the back of his pants. He glanced upward into the canopy of trees. "We need to get up there. Spend a little while planning."

"We don't have time for that," said Castiel. "We need to keep moving."

"Uh, Cas, I'm not sure if you've gotten the memo, but we're in Purgatory; we have all the time in the world," said Dean. "We can't keep stumbling around like this. Something is eventually going to find us."

Castiel gave Dean an inscrutable look, his eyes bright and poignant, before all the fight fled him upon exhale and he nodded, conceding. "Fine," he said. "But we can't stay for long."

They walked until they came across an oak tree. As there was no grooves good enough for Dean to trust with his weight, he allowed Castiel to boost him up into the tree, settling into the hollow after awkwardly moving around trying to find a comfortable position. The hollow was easily big enough for two full-grown men.

Dean didn't see how Castiel got into the tree, but he was suddenly there, a warm presence at Dean's side that he couldn't push away even if he wanted to. The press of his best friend against him calmed him. He settled back against a thick branch and closed his eyes, shifting a little as something stuck painfully into his back.

I wonder what Sam's doing right now, Dean wondered, as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness.

(*)

Barely a day had gone past, and Sam was going out of his mind with worry. There was no one left, only him. He had no idea where Dean and Castiel had disappeared to. A gut feeling told him that it was nowhere good and he just wanted to break down and give up yet he couldn't; Dean and Castiel needed him. He couldn't let them stay wherever they were. He had to be the one to bring them home.

The question remained, however; where were they?

He had no source of information. Both prophets he'd ever met were currently M.I.A and like fuck was he summoning Meg unless he actually had to, and if he saw Crowley again he'd just stick Ruby's knife into his throat on principal alone. Just as Crowley said, he was well and truly on his own … and he fucking hated it every second. He wasn't accustomed to this. Being alone sucked. He didn't know how people could like it.

His endless hours of research had come to nothing. Sam had awoken that morning after passing out against his laptop, his cheek pressing up against the keys, drool sitting in a small pool just millimetres away from the mouse. He'd sat up, for one horrifying moment he thought he'd broken his computer, but it still worked perfectly, much to his relief. Losing his computer might have been the thing to send him over the edge.

He realised that in his sleep, he'd pressed up against a key that sent him back to one of his old searches from at least two years ago, perhaps. He couldn't quite remember. Research about prophets.

That got him thinking. No one actually knew what happened to Chuck. Once he finished writing Swan Song, he'd disappeared. Perhaps there was some kind of vacation prophets took when they finished the jobs that they had been created for, or whatever. If Chuck was still on Earth, a location spell could possibly work. He hadn't used it since Ruby had shown it to him that first time when the angels had taken Dean away to torture Alistair for information, because the general idea kind of creeped him out.

Whilst he would have felt better if he was going after Kevin, the fact remained that if Crowley didn't want something found, then it wouldn't be found. Period.

He readjusted himself in his chair, fingers poised over his keyboard. He didn't know exactly where to start looking or how. All he knew was that he had to do something. Goodness knows what Dean and Castiel were going through right now. He had to pull his weight and save them.

(Bonus points if Sam didn't go dark side this time. He'd learned his lesson with Ruby. The last thing he was going to do—he hoped—was repeat his mistakes. The less shit Dean and Castiel had to put up with when they came back—like drying him out of demon blood—the better off they would all be.)

"Come on, Sam," he whispered to himself. "Better get to work."

(*)

There was no sun here, at least not from what Dean could gather. It had been dark for what felt like an eternity. He couldn't see a wisp of light rising in the horizon. Perhaps Purgatory was just a place of eternal darkness.

The tree branch he'd been resting his head on, cushioned by his jacket, had gotten too uncomfortable for him to bear and he eventually shifted to rest against Castiel's shoulder with the firm warning; "We will never talk about this." Castiel had said nothing. He was too busy scanning the area.

Dean hoped that he wouldn't feel hunger and thirst. Dying of starvation and dehydration in here only to come back fully healthy and healed only to repeat the process would torture him. The thought of killing something in Purgatory, cooking and eating it only to have it possibly come alive inside him disgusted him.

"Will we feel hunger here?" he asked Castiel quietly. He felt oddly calm, peaceful.

Castiel glanced down at him. "I don't think so."

"You're not sure about that, are you?"

"The only time I've associated myself with Purgatory before now was when I sucked up souls to use in order to defeat Raphael," said Castiel, a hint of guilt in his tone. "I'm not sure about anything else."

"Do you think this is where angels come when they die? I mean, you've died plenty of times."

"All those times were too quick for me to decipher the resting place of angels," said Castiel, "although I do hope that Purgatory is not the final resting place."

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to stumble across good ol' Raphael in here. But at least Gabriel will be here. I'm not sure if that's the plus side for me, but it should be for you."

Castiel inhaled sharply. "Balthazar would be here, too."

"Balthazar? Why would he be in here?" There was a pause. "Castiel, please tell me you didn't … kill him."

"I did. Just before I took on Raphael. It's one of the many things I regret about that time." A wolf howled in the distance, too far for them to have to worry about at the moment. "I had no idea before then just how badly power could corrupt. Now I know all too well, and I wish I could go back to the time where I didn't."

Dean bit his lip. "Then at least you'll have a chance to apologise and beg for forgiveness, yeah? That is if they're really down here." A thought occurred to him, and he snorted humourlessly. "Gabriel might kick my ass for convincing him to put his ass on the line. Wound up getting him killed."

"We'll have to try and avoid them, then, if all they will do is try to extract their retribution," said Castiel.

Dean knew he had no plans to avoid them. There was a reason Castiel was an honorary Winchester; if a Winchester thought they deserved punishing, they'd do half the job themselves and hand off the other half to the person that they had wronged, then get in a little bit more punishment afterward.

"Tomorrow," said Castiel, inhaling deeply, "we'll look for a way out of this section of Purgatory."

"There are sections?" Dean asked, surprised. Castiel nodded. "I guess that's why we've only seen wolves so far. That's great. At least we only have to deal with one species at a time … ah, how the hell do we get out of this section, exactly?"

"I don't know. Angels never worried about Purgatory. We never had to. Before the Apocalypse, no angel had to worry about dying," said Castiel wistfully. "Nobody knew how to kill angels in those days."

"Except for other angels." Dean remembered Uriel's betrayal.

"Yes. Except for other angels."

"Well, we've got all the time in the universe to find out how to travel through Purgatory," said Dean. He tried hard not to think of what Sam would look like when they eventually got out of Purgatory, if he was even still alive at all. No pressure or anything. "As soon as the sun comes up—if it comes up—we'll get going."

**To Be Continued. . .**


End file.
